Flesh Evidence: a heart-stopping crime thriller Read online

  Cyril noticed a slight smile as Don played back the last conversation he’d had with his son and then he witnessed the tear grow before it rolled down Don’s cheek. He then noticed the biscuits on the coffee table and the mug containing cold tea.

  “This is going to be difficult but I’d like to have someone go through your son’s computer, tonight if possible. We can either get one of the Forensic digital team here to collect it or the task can be performed here but it would be better back at the centre.”

  “It’s a laptop and he’s got an iPad. Take them, if it’ll bring him back, take them”

  Don stood, wiped his face with the back of his hand and went upstairs returning with the two machines. I don’t know his passwords but he’s mad on aircraft so might give you a lead.”

  Cyril noticed that Don had recovered some of his composure. “Sorry, bit screwed up. If there’s anything else…” He lifted his hands.

  Cyril made a call to organise the collection of the IT equipment. “Was your son an Air Cadet, Mr Granger?”

  Don nodded, “Crackers about planes. Even his favourite mug look!”

  Cyril noticed the image of a Vulcan on the mug that was on the coffee table. He then noticed the white halo that had settled on top of the liquid and it made him think of Owen.

  “It’s noted that you have given the police an up-to-date photograph. Would you like a WPC to be here for your wife, Mr Granger?”

  “We’re a strong family, we’re fine.”

  Cyril handed him his number. “Ring if there’s anything.”

  Chapter Eight

  Owen stood on Stray Rein and looked at the three enclosed areas. Temporary lights had been set up and the thrum of two generators whispered above the occasional traffic noise. The technicians, dressed in their protective suits, moved cautiously, if not a little eerily around the scene, the occasional flash of a camera illuminated the area with intense, white light.

  A white-suited Crime Scene Manager walked towards Owen. “We’ve a plastic bottle top found where the lads played. Looking at the condition of the grass it was where they’d stored their stuff as goal posts. It’s with a courier and on its way to the lab. Nothing else. Shows how clean Harrogate is!” she smiled. “Another hour to take shoe prints and we should be ready for the final walk through.”

  Owen looked at his watch. He walked to the road and leaned against a tree. A number of people were trying to see what was going on. Owen glanced at the staring onlookers but took little notice. Whenever there was a cordon, there were spectators. The local TV cameras had set up a short distance away and someone was talking to camera.

  ***

  Cyril sipped his tea and went through the files on his desk. He read a report from Sarah detailing the process of destroying banned and unwanted chemicals and drugs. Incineration seemed the likely method. He scanned for addresses and made notes.

  He checked with the Digital Forensic Unit to see if there was anything on the computers he’d brought in earlier; an optimistic call but he was in need of information. Forensics had taken an image of each device to protect the content from contamination and they were searching Carl’s Internet history, files and messages. They were also looking for keyword hits in deleted files. The majority of the conversation flew some distance above Cyril’s head. He asked Owen to liaise with the technical boys, after all the youths seemed to understand the devil’s ways more.

  He read through the notes made after Owen interviewed the fast food operators. Sonya James seemed to be the most profitable for information. He stopped before highlighting the word ‘Ichor’.

  “Ichor.” He said the word over a couple of times. He’d heard the word before but couldn’t recall where. He tapped it into a search engine.

  ‘Ichor originates in Greek mythology, where it is the ethereal fluid that is the Greek gods' blood, sometimes said to retain the qualities of the immortals’ food and drink, ambrosia or nectar. It was considered to be golden in colour, as well as lethally toxic to mortals. Great demigods and heroes occasionally attacked gods and released Ichor, but gods rarely did so to each other in Homeric myth.’

  It was like a penny falling from a great height. Cyril shook his head. ‘Lethally toxic to mortals’, he said to himself. He turned to Owen’s report and read on. Tall, white goatee beard, similar description to that given by…he leaned across to some notes that he had made earlier. ‘Similar to that given by Emilie Wilson.’ he whispered.

  Cyril’s phone rang.

  “Bennett.” He listened. “One minute.”

  The jar within the recycling container had been located and the initial details were about to be read. He picked up a pen. “The label?” he added notes. “And the tattoo?” he wrote a large letter ‘S’. “Thanks, please let me know if you get anything else from the jar.”

  Now he had the letters ‘V’, ‘C’, ‘I’ and ‘S’ tattooed on four pieces of flesh.

  “The bastard! I wonder?”

  Cyril wrote underneath in bold block capitals,

  I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE;

  I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL

  If he were correct, there were another four jars to find. And if his guess were right, he knew the letters tattooed and imprisoned within each.

  ***

  Owen and Liz were reading through the notes when Cyril entered the busy Incident Room; Owen, as usual, looked as though he had just fallen out of bed, which, on this occasion, was true. He could see eagerness in Cyril’s face and it made him feel even more soporific.

  “Sorry for this early start and thanks for coming in, it’s either late or early but not too sure myself!” Cyril smiled and picked up a marker pen and added the four letters to the white board. The constant chatter of voices hummed in the background. “What word do you see? There are letters missing but does anything hit you?”

  “Victorious,“ Liz said immediately but felt the exact opposite.

  Owen tapped the details into his iPad demanding the answer from Google. “Hundreds,” he said without a smile.

  He turned the pad round and there was a list starting with those words containing eleven letters all the way to those containing six.

  Cyril put his hand to his chin feeling a little deflated. “This is just an idea.” He wrote the word INVICTUS under the letters. “It came to me immediately and I just thought our man was playing with us. It’s Latin for unconquered. It’s the title of a poem. I feel he’s playing, he’s teasing and he’s testing us. The other letters on the labels’ reverse have to mean something too, a code or a guide. Anyone thought anything further?”

  Liz looked at Owen she appeared unconvinced. “We really can’t make that presumption, can we?”

  One of the officers called out to say that the DNA and Toxicology results were in from Stray Rein. Both samples showed concentrated amounts of Syrup of Ipecac, two samples were from the missing youth, the other from Peter Lee.

  “The recovered plastic top also contained traces. They’ve checked for fingerprints but nothing other than those of Lee and Grainger. The other lads present mentioned that Peter Lee offered everyone a drink but only he and Carl Granger drank; none of the others touched it. They thought the bottle was left near where they played. After it was emptied someone kicked it. Strangely, they said that Peter Lee was surprised to discover the bottle on his jacket, said he hadn’t brought it.”

  “There was only the top found, no trace of the bottle. Looks like who ever placed it, removed it.”

  “Have all the bins in the vicinity been checked?” Cyril asked.

  “All and they did a sweep of the railway cutting too, but nothing. Council will check all other bins around The Stray. I’ve issued a description and the name Ichor. We’ll know tomorrow.”

  Cyril explained the meaning behind the name. “It’s all linked.” Cyril looked at the board. “Anyone interviewed Pamela Shepherd?”

  Liz tapped her pencil on her teeth. “It’s on my list for today along with the friends of Sonya James. We can
remove Gary Barton, he didn’t open on the day Tony Thompson disappeared, his fridge and I quote, “was buggered”, caught fire the first day of the Fair and so he didn’t get up and running until the day after Carl went missing.”

  “I take it he’s neither six foot nor sports a white goatee?” Cyril asked tongue in cheek.

  Liz smiled. “Fairy tale ending, Sir but alas…”

  “We’re checking with the owners of the parked cars that were on Stray Rein today but with the radio and TV coverage we should glean something.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cyril looked at his watch; it was nine in the morning. He had returned home, showered and changed. It had been a long night. His mind tumbled over the progress made but they were still no closer to finding the latest victim. Cyril was both angry and amazed that in broad daylight someone could just disappear; nobody had come forward having witnessed anything out of the ordinary. Two people had rung to say they had seen the boys but there was nothing unusual.

  He picked up his phone and dialled.

  “Goodness me, it’s a will-‘o-the wisp!” Julie’s voice was light and bubbly.

  “Funny from someone who hasn’t been up all night.”

  “So from that I take it you have? Bragging or complaining, Cyril?”

  “I was going to invite you out for dinner but I find I’m now watching something on television tomorrow evening.”

  “You’ve no TV, remember? Love to, what time?”

  “I’ll be at yours for seven.” Cyril smiled to himself and hung up.

  Cyril had known Julie Pritchett for a number of years and they enjoyed a casual and sometimes passionate relationship. There was no real commitment on either side, as they both had a keen focus on their careers. It was more the trust and companionship they craved but as Julie often let Cyril know, the sex had an attraction too. Dr Julie Pritchett was one of the four Home Office Pathologists working within the northeast.

  Cyril had barely sat down at his desk when Stuart put his head round the door.

  “We’ve had two sightings. A man was seen helping a youth away from the place where the lads were playing soccer. Thought by the way they interacted it was a parent. He says that the man collected the lad’s sweater and an object before leading him down Slingsby Walk. Seemed caring, there was no struggling or fuss. Everything appeared above board and he thought no more about it until he heard the news this morning. Description meets that of our man. I’ve called for door to door along St Wilfred’s Road. Those houses back onto The Stray at that point. Also one of the drivers of the cars that were parked noticed a tall, thin chap leaning against a tree watching the lads play football. Had a jacket with a hood that was pulled up, even though it was warm. He just thought it strange.”

  “Did the Police dog not pick up that trail last night?”

  “Strangely, there was nothing.”

  “Get a dog down again and track away from the scene. See if it can find more vomit or a trail. I know it’s a long shot but we need to do everything.”

  ***

  Liz drove down Hollins Lane into Hampsthwaite, stopping outside the Methodist Chapel; she checked her notes. The house she was looking for was one opposite the stone terrace just next to the chapel. She looked across at it. The upstairs curtains were drawn, the upper part of the left one hung limply as if missing rings. There was no car on the weed-filled gravel drive and the garage door yawned partly open. Liz immediately thought of the ‘Marie Celeste’ and smiled. Would there be a steaming bowl of porridge on the table and a kettle whistling on the stove? She checked the road and crossed.

  As she crunched down the drive, she noticed the blinds separate in the window of the next-door house. It was only a brief twitch but it was definitely a movement. Within seconds an elderly man appeared at the door.

  “Can I help you, young lady?”

  Liz was rather taken aback but smiled. “Unless Pamela Shepherd lives with you and I have the wrong address…”

  “Pamela’s away. Wonderful thing this Neighbourhood Watch. I’m looking after her dog. He’s in there.” The man pointed at Pamela’s door. I walk him, feed him but I’d suggest you don’t knock as he’ll go daft.”

  “Do you know where she is and when she’ll be back, Mr…?”

  The man shook his head. “Who are you?”

  Liz had now had enough. She removed her ID and walked towards the hedge that separated the two drives and held the document with a stretched arm. “I’m DS Graydon and you are?”

  The man didn’t even check it, “Mr Melville, John Melville. Why didn’t you say you were the police and save all this dancing around? Ex force myself. Bradford, on the dogs for a while, must be thirty years now, lifetime ago.”

  “So where’s Pamela Shepherd, Mr Melville?”

  “Away, looking after her aunt. She hasn’t set a return date but rings me every couple of days to check on the dog.”

  “Where’s the aunt live?”

  “Ilkley. Poor girl finds it difficult holding down a permanent job because of the toing and froing. I believe she gave up teaching and then came here to look after her mum and when she passed away she told me that she’d promised her mum that she’d look after her sister. Think its some kind of dementia but she doesn’t like to talk too much about it. Know what though? There’ll be no one to look after her when it’s all done. Not been back for some time. As kind and caring as they come, that lass.”

  “Do you have a number we can contact her on? We just need to clear some information about the missing youths that you’ve probably read about.”

  He disappeared into the house and Liz noticed a bicycle leaning in the hallway. She looked back across at her car and the stone terrace row running down the main village road. She squinted to read the name that was partially hidden by a downspout, ‘Clarence Terrace.‘

  John Melville returned with the number.

  “You know the garage door’s open?” Liz said as she added the number to her phone.

  “It’s jammed, neither opens nor shuts, nothing in to steal anyway. The dog warns me if anyone goes down the side of the house. Go on, try.”

  Liz walked towards the garage to be met by the crashing of what sounded like a large dog hitting the front door; its bark deep giving the impression it was a dog of size.

  “Rottweiler called Sam. Soft as anything, his bark’s worse than his bite. I take him out a couple of times a day, let’s say it helps bring back happy memories.”

  The dog continued to bark until John called its name. “See, soft.”

  Liz thanked him and returned to the car. She’d call the number when back at the station. Within a minute of driving away her mobile rang. She pulled to the roadside noticing it was Owen.

  “Hi, all OK?”

  “Two more jars have turned up and it looks as though Flash might be right. We have N and I added to the list but it depends on how many pieces we are looking for. I’ve checked and we could have INCIVISM, CIVILIANS and dare I say, VIVISECTING? Strangely, Liz, there are no letters in the corner of the labels’ reverse but a ‘zero’ and an ‘i’ in the centre.”

  “On my way.”

  ***

  When Liz arrived in the Incident Room, a new white board contained the letters and a photograph of the reverse of the labels made to form a grid pattern. Four words were written on the board: INCIVISM – neglect of duty as a civilian, CIVILIANS – self-explanatory, VIVISECTING – the act of vivisection and INVICTUS – unconquered.

  “There’s possibly hundreds if there are many more jars to find,” Owen whispered making her jump.

  “Yep, as long as the longest piece of human flesh belonging to a fourteen year old,” Liz answered. She didn’t turn but continued to stare at the letters and the words. “I think Flash is right, it’s usually the first thing that comes to you and right now that statement is certainly true.” Her finger tapped the board beneath INVICTUS. “Why is he unconquered, what battles has he faced, if indeed it is a he? But what of the others,
we now have a zero, and is that ‘O’ or zero on the first label?”

  Owen moved away from his desk and stood next to her.

  “Can we turn them all into numbers? Take the alphabet, ‘A’ being one. He scribbled down the alphabet and added their sequential number. We would have ‘V’ equalling 22, ‘D’ equalling 4 and ‘O’ is 15.”

  “What if ‘V’ represents 5, ‘D’ 4 and it’s zero not a ‘O’, we end up with all numbers under ten. Therefore we have 5,4,0. But why go to all this trouble? What’s the bloody point unless he’s directing us or giving clues?”

  “I’ll tell you what you have.” Owen rubbed his chin and then moved his fingers to the letters in turn. “There, clear as day.”

  “What is?”

  “Can’t you see? He’s giving you the name of a well-known stately home…”

  “Which is?”

  “Bugger All.” Owen just grinned as Liz slapped his arm.“ Coffee?”

  Liz smiled, nodded and then shook her head as if pretending to scream. “Thanks. I need to make a call that will hopefully make more sense than this lot.”

  The phone rang four times before the answerphone kicked in. It was a standard message. Liz made notes on Pamela Shepherd on a post-it note adding her full name, Pamela Samantha Shepherd and tagged it to her computer screen. She’d chase that later after calling Pamela again.

  ***

  “We’ve found two more vomit traces, the last was in the kerb at Roslyn Road. That’s a good distance from where the witness saw the man help the boy. It’s also restricted parking and so if the child were abducted by car there might be a sighting. I’ve organised a mail drop and then a door to door for later today when most people will be home.” Stuart sounded breathless. “Forensics have taken samples and results will be with you as soon as.”