Lying Ways, page 16
‘It’d take about twenty minutes to walk from the station at Ravenglass to where the witness spotted him in Saltcoats, so it’s more likely to be three p.m.,’ said Craig.
‘And the coroner came back to me with a time of death of sometime on Saturday. Let’s drive the route to Seascale and look for residential cameras. Do we have anything from the house-to-house enquiries carried out here?’ she asked. ‘Did you notice the way they looked at us when we parked? They’re not used to strangers.’
‘Yes, but the killers might have simply driven through, straight to the abandoned waterworks.’
‘Are they close by?’ she asked.
‘Not too far, we can walk. There’s still a police presence there.’ They finished their food and drinks and Kelly approached the woman behind the counter, who smiled. Kelly showed her ID card and introduced herself.
‘You here about the body?’ the woman asked.
‘Yes, we are. Have you heard anyone talking about suspicious vehicles or activity around last Friday or Saturday?’ Kelly asked.
‘He was a bad ’un from Highton, wasn’t he?’ the woman asked.
‘He was an inmate there, yes.’
‘I remember his dog. Poor thing was found wandering round on the beach. They brought him in here and I gave him a bowl of water and some bread. Miserable wretch was starving,’ she said.
‘Had you seen him before, with somebody?’ Kelly asked.
‘I drove past him on Saturday morning when I came to open up, and he was on his own then, but I had no idea he was abandoned.’
‘What time was that?’ Kelly asked.
‘Seven in the morning. I went to check once I’d got the lights on and stuff, but he was gone.’
‘He was definitely on his own?’ Kelly asked.
‘Definitely, I can see all the way down the beach from both directions from the back of the shop, I’ll show you,’ she said. Kelly and Craig followed her around the counter and through the back to the loading area. Sure enough, Kelly could see for miles in both directions.
‘Where’s the old waterworks?’ Kelly asked.
The woman pointed north. ‘Over those sand dunes.’
‘Did you notice anyone from not round here coming into the shop that Saturday?’
The woman thought carefully. They went back into the shop.
‘We do get tourists milling about, usually they’re lost or have got off the train, thinking they’ll grab an ice cream. There was a fella on his own. I remember him because he was so polite and quiet spoken. He looked as though he’d arranged to meet someone, and he waited around outside for ages, but no one came. He bought three ice creams over about an hour. He looked disappointed. I asked him if he was all right and he looked a bit confused. He asked where he could buy cigarettes and I said I could give him some, so he came back inside. He was a sad-looking fella,’ she said.
‘Did you tell the police at the time?’ Kelly asked.
‘They’ve been going door to door, but I’ve had no one in here asking,’ the woman said. Craig tutted.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked, worried now.
‘No, not at all, I’m sure they’ll get round to you. It could be extremely helpful information – could you describe him? And anything that might make him stand out?’ Kelly asked.
‘He was oldish, I guess, sixties, kind-looking. Shabby clothes, looked like he’d been hidden away for twenty years,’ she said, laughing to herself at the memory of the man with such dubious dress sense. Craig looked at Kelly.
‘Carry on,’ she said.
‘Erm, white-grey hair, Oh, I remember, he had a T-shirt on under his jumper, which he took off because he was hot. And he had a great ugly tattoo, here on his elbow,’ she said.
‘A tattoo of what?’ Kelly asked.
‘A spider’s web,’ she said. Kelly flicked through her phone and found a photograph of Jack Bell, and showed it to the woman. ‘Is this him?’ she asked. The woman nodded.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ she said.
‘Did you see him light his cigarette after you sold them to him?’ Kelly asked. ‘Did he by any chance use one of these?’ Kelly showed her a photograph of the Zippo.
‘He did! I remember the smell, it’s peculiar isn’t it? Like fuel. Is it important?’ the woman asked.
‘Yes, very important, thank you. I’ll need you to approve our statement when I type it up, so I’ll get your personal details.’
‘Who is he?’ the woman asked.
‘He was called Jack Bell, and he’s dead now.’
The woman put her hand to her mouth. ‘But how can that be? He was such a lovely-looking man. That’s so sad,’ she said. She appeared to think about something. ‘Wait, is he linked to your body up at the waterworks?’ she asked.
‘We think so,’ Craig said.
‘Holy moly,’ she said.
‘Did you talk at all?’ Kelly asked.
The woman thought again. ‘He said something about not worrying about life. He said if you get to his age then you have everything you need and don’t want for nothing,’ she said. ‘Strange. He said that but looked sad.’
‘And the person he was waiting for never turned up? Did you ask who he was waiting for?’
‘No, I thought it rude.’
They took the necessary details from the woman and made their way to the old waterworks, a couple of minutes’ walk away. It was sealed off with police tape and two uniformed police officers sat in a squad car at the entrance. Kelly and Craig showed their ID badges and walked towards the warehouse where Dean Kirby’s body had been found. The water purification plant had operated up until 2018, and in a mere two years had grown over with unruly bushes and weeds, as well as become home to birds, foxes and insects. Craig opened the door to the room where the body had been found and Kelly followed him in. The outdoors hadn’t quite reached inside yet and the concrete walls and doors were bare. As Ted had already told her, this slowed the insect activity on Dean’s body to normal levels, which enabled them to get accurate results. Marks were drawn where he’d lain, strapped to the chair, and little circles were also drawn around where the exhibits had been found, including the dead larvae. Kelly visualised the photographs in graphic detail and cast her thoughts to Ted’s preliminary autopsy findings, which he’d sent over to her. His official report would take a lot longer, but he’d given her the important facts via email.
‘It’s very isolated. I assume no one comes here,’ she said.
‘Apart from kids playing,’ Craig said.
‘Risky.’
They walked around. If you were looking for the perfect spot to torture someone to death, then this was it. No tyre tracks had been found outside, and no physical evidence of other accomplices, like at the other site in Workington, where Jack had died.
‘Do you think they were supposed to meet?’ Craig said.
‘It looks like it,’ Kelly said. She walked around the quiet room, noting how tucked away from the howling wind of the Irish Sea they were.
‘It was well planned,’ she said. ‘This place was well chosen.’
Craig agreed.
Kelly couldn’t help feel the terror of the victim’s final moments, all alone and cut off from everything he knew and trusted. They didn’t have much of a picture of either man, and less about Dean, who seemed a troubled soul, in and out of prison his whole adult life. The prospect of getting out must have been disconcerting. Perhaps meeting Jack would have been something he looked forward to. But who would know they were here, and who would betray them? She couldn’t get Rickie Burton out of her head.
‘Should we take a drive down to Ravenglass?’ Craig asked. She nodded and took one last look around. They’d double back and go south again, past Highton, to Ravenglass, where Dean Kirby had got off the train from Barrow. She drove slowly, looking left and right, to see if any isolated old mansion might have CCTV at the bottom of their driveway overlooking the road. There were none. This stretch of the coast was deserted. Until they neared the A595 and saw the turning to HMP Highton, from where they’d come. This time, not distracted by searching for the turning, she saw that, over the road, with several CCTV cameras on display, was a petrol station.
Chapter 28
Kelly’s drive back to Eden House was long and she felt fatigued. It had been a constructive day, to a point, but she was no closer to getting a motive for the crimes. She and Craig had agreed to split the focus of their squads into clear lines of inquiry. Kelly’s team would pursue the physical evidence of the case, and Craig would take on the almighty task of finding ex-cons who’d served with Jack Bell and Dean Kirby.
The light faded as she pulled into the car park around the back of Eden House. She’d used the drive to catch up with Johnny, and he confirmed that he was thinking about restarting with the mountain rescue. She told him about Kate’s daughter, Millie, and they agreed to invite her over to meet Lizzie.
Penrith was quiet, and as Kelly slammed her car door shut, the noise echoed off the walls. She’d changed back into trainers after her visit to HMP Highton, and so her footsteps made no sound. The silence made her aware of her breath and she went round to the front entrance. Her team was assembled upstairs, waiting for their brief from the boss to round off the day.
They’d all been busy.
She greeted them and they gathered in the incident room, sitting in groups, chatting about various details of the case, or simply about what takeaway they might get tonight. She felt a swell of pride that this was the team she’d created.
‘Ready in five,’ she said. She went to her office after noticing that the board in the incident room was filling up nicely. The lure of long hours tempted her to stay late tonight and work through it all. But the familiar knot of guilt sat under her ribcage and she told herself that she’d not stay too long. Her office was hot and she threw open a window, letting in the noise of the streets below, which wasn’t much, but there was something about the evening air that cleared her head after the confinement of the prison. She sat heavily in her chair and logged on to her desktop computer. HOLMES had been updating all day and she hadn’t had time to give it much attention. There was always a dilemma for a SIO over how much time to spend in the office and how much out chasing. In this case, Kelly believed that she couldn’t have missed the autopsy yesterday, and equally had to go to Highton in person, and she was glad she had. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be easily linked by video. She’d gained the measure of the governor, Brian Taylor, and a few of his officers, notably Liam Fawcett. She’d be interested to find out how Tom Gorman’s first day had gone.
Kelly went to the ladies’ bathroom and washed her hands, which felt grimy after being out all day. She touched up her make-up and sprayed a bit of perfume on her neck. She felt somewhat revived and ready for what would most certainly be a very detailed and focused meeting. Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Johnny.
Any idea what time home?
She looked at her watch. Lizzie would be having her tea.
Just giving final brief now. 7?
He texted back a thumbs-up emoji. Now she’d committed to a time, she knew she had to stick to it. Unless something unexpected came up.
Back at her desk, she read the updates and made sure that any new information was checked and filed accordingly. HOLMES had revolutionised the way investigations were carried out. Miniscule pieces of information which could easily get lost or dismissed as irrelevant were never forgotten by the dynamic reasoning software. The easiest to solve were the crimes of passion, like a husband stabbing his wife to death in a fit of jealous rage. Or the gang-related deaths of vengeance, wrought on young men, spilling out from the cities into the provinces. Kelly held the common view that most murders were either too emotional and rash, or stupid. However, serial killers, in her experience, were different. They followed a pattern, and were often only caught when they made a mistake, usually caused by becoming complacent, and bored of their own modus operandi. To her, it looked like their killer was only just getting started.
Her phone buzzed and made her jump. It was Ted.
‘Hi Dad,’ she said.
‘Kelly, are you home?’ he asked.
‘No I’m still at work, I’ve just got back from Highton and I’m about to give a brief. Have you some news?’
‘Actually yes. Dean Kirby died from severe anaphylaxis. The head wound was inflicted post-mortem,’ he said.
‘What drew you to that conclusion? It’s odd in a murder case, I have to say.’ Kelly was stunned.
‘I knew you’d say that. I’ve sent you my report. There was pharyngeal oedema alongside a standard heart attack, but no heart disease, as well as raised mast cell tryptase. It’s pathologically sound.’
She regretted asking.
‘Do you know what caused the allergic reaction?’
‘I can find no insect bite, so he had to have been allergic to something at the scene, or he ingested something.’
‘Our killer likes to torture for a prolonged period, so that would have screwed his plans. Maybe he cracked his skull open in a fit of rage for ruining his agenda,’ Kelly said.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Ted agreed. ‘There was nothing associated with common food triggers in the remains of his stomach, nuts, fish and the like. I’m waiting for his blood to come back to determine if he’d been given some kind of drug or anaesthetic.’
‘That would dull the killer’s enjoyment,’ Kelly said. ‘What about latex? No sophisticated killer like this would be stupid enough not to wear gloves,’ Kelly said.
‘Possible. Without evidence of any of the other normal triggers for the fatality then latex should be ruled in as a promising alternative.’
‘And if the kill was a disappointment, it’s not surprising that another followed soon after,’ Kelly said.
‘Is that normally the case?’ Ted asked.
‘In a high percentage. Say a serial rapist and murderer fails to pull off his plan because he was disturbed, often you find that another victim is attacked successfully nearby not long after,’ Kelly said.
‘So he worked extra hard on Jack Bell,’ Ted said.
‘Exactly,’ Kelly agreed. ‘Were you able to determine if Dean Kirby had been sexually assaulted?’ she asked.
‘Inconclusive, but he did have similar genital bruising and burning,’ he said. Kelly knew that this meant that there wasn’t enough viable anal tract left for a swab. She had a sudden moment of grief. A feeling of loss washed over her, instigated by the horror of the passing of these two men. Whoever had done this to them was a certified fucked-up and twisted individual and she wondered what could have possibly happened to him to make him this way. Killers aren’t born, they’re made; of that she was certain. They were dealing with somebody who had suffered, and who wanted to revisit that agony on others. But the realisation made her head go round in circles. If the murders were paid hits, then why employ a deranged killer to do it, who might be messy? Surely contract kills were clean; wasn’t that the whole point?
She sighed and said good night to Ted. She was weary. Catching a person capable of such gratuitous violence was never easy, and Kelly knew that she was potentially going to have to go head-to-head with a sadist and a risk-taker, and that was a recipe for an alarmingly dangerous investigation. It exposed herself and her team to the world of pure madness. She knew that many serial killers weren’t technically mad, but their behaviour was. It was the FBI who first began profiling serial killers in the 1970s and the practice had come a long way since then. Serial killers were generally said to have personality disorders, usually psychopathy, and often had low-functioning amygdalas: the part of the brain related to consequence. Kelly knew that whatever this killer did, his killing would always be the single most important thing in his life, because he’d learned to get his kicks from it, for whatever reason. That made him a formidable adversary. Maybe their only chance lay in finding who had helped him – as well as who had paid him.
She got up from her chair and went to the incident room.
‘Thanks, everybody, I know it’s been a long day. I’ve been looking at the work you’ve been doing in my absence, and I’m blown away. Thank you. I’ll let you go very soon, and then I’ll do the handover to the duty officer for tonight. Much of what we have achieved today now requires lab results and replies from witnesses to come back, so there’s nothing we can do in the middle of the night. If you want to stay back and finish a few things off, then be my guest, but I want everyone fresh and rested for tomorrow. The next couple of days will be tough. Kate?’
Kelly perched on a table and allowed her second in command to speak.
‘Thanks, guv. Me and Rob have been chasing the forensics.’ She flicked a few keys on her computer and exhibits came up on the huge white screen behind Kelly. Everyone paid attention. Kate went through several physical pieces of evidence, but none that stood up to any cross-reference with their victims. It was essentially a collection of detritus and rubbish.
‘None of the prints we lifted were matched on any of our databases, so they weren’t from Jack, or anyone else who has served time.’
That was a disappointment, because Kelly was hoping that an ex-con was responsible, perhaps someone who had served in Highton.
‘I’ll interject there,’ Kelly said. ‘The coroner just called me, and he thinks Dean Kirby died of severe anaphylaxis. The working theory is that in the absence of food, drugs or an insect bite, it could be latex, and that would indicate gloves, explaining the lack of prints. Carry on, Kate.’
‘The clump of hair was identified positively as Jack’s. We also searched the CCTV requested from the local Co-op, close to where Jack’s body was found. On Sunday night this man bought a Snickers bar at ten p.m.’ Kate brought up the CCTV reel and paused it on a still frame of a man making a purchase at the Co-op.
